Sleep, Dear Ones
by INeedThis19
Summary: Jeff the Killer enlists the help of Oval Valentine, a bounty hunter known as The Bloodhound, and the Plague Doctor to help retrieve his brother. Together, the three enter the forbidden forest that lies on the border of Pesadilla, a city where nightmares come to life. However, the forest holds true terror.


One

Blood. Droplets of blood started from the locker room. I followed the trail until the droplets stopped at the science lab on the second floor. The door to the lab was open. I stepped inside and didn't initially see anything. Still, I had my gun out, ready to shoot if necessary. There weren't many places to hide. No lockers. Open areas underneath tables and desks. I was free, for the time, to look around.

Everything seemed to be in place. Not even a speck of dust seemed touched by anybody. I turned to leave when I noticed the emergency kit hanging off the wall had a stain on it. Upon closer inspection it definitely seemed like blood. I pulled a pair of leather gloves out from my back pocket and slipped them on. I ran one of my now gloved fingers over the blood and lifted it to my nose. It smelled fresh. He had been here about four minutes ago.

"Smart kid," I muttered to myself as I exited. He knew he was leaving a trail of blood and had had the sense to stop by a room that would have an emergency kit. I remember my science teachers lecturing us about what to do in case of cuts or burns. Too bad there weren't any lecturers on what to do if a Bounty Hunter was after you.

I hid in the shadows of the hall while I planned my next move. I knew he was badly injured from the wound I had given him earlier. Not from my gun, but from a knife. At the time I had deemed the gun as useless. According to the kid's parents, he had taken Nova Dust before disappearing. I had brought the gun with me in case the kid tried to lunge at or kill me. I wanted this to be a quick, quiet job, too. No such luck. He had tried to fight me, probably still hopped up. He managed to get in a good blow to my jaw before taking off. I had been able to slash him across the thigh before he took off running. He had run further into the school, hence the Cat-and-Mouse game.

I closed my eyes and sat in meditative like silence. That's when I heard the sound of footsteps coming from above me on the third floor. I listened more intently. One pair of feet, but it sounded off rhythm. Like someone was walking with an injury.

Now that I knew where he was, I had to come up with a plan to lure him down to me. I considered my options. I could either go back outside and circle the building, chucking smoke bombs through the windows of the third floor, or I could make it seem like I had given up the chase. I checked my bag before making my decision. I didn't have enough bombs to smoke out an entire third floor, so I went with my second choice.

One hour later and I had the kid tied up, dragging his ass back to his parents' house. They looked shocked, relieved, and angry. Shock because they didn't expect me to work so quickly. Relieved to know their son wasn't dead. Angry at their son for all the trouble they had caused him. My parents had had the same look on their face the first time cops showed up on their doorstep with me in tow.

"Sorry he's roughed up a bit," I explained while undoing the rope from his wrists. His parents had mentioned a lock picking kit weeks ago. I didn't want to give him the chance of escaping too easily. "He put up a bit of a fight."

"You were the one with the gun!" He snapped at me.

"You were hopped up on Nova Dust. People become unpredictable. I had to be cautious."

The kid was throwing attitude my way the whole time I was at that house. His parents thanked me before I left. After the door closed on me, I slipped into the shadows and listened as the fighting began. I don't know why I always stayed after a job. I guess it made me feel normal again. Like any day I would wake up from what I've become and go back to who I was.

I had to chuckle. Who was I kidding?

People in Pesadilla already had a nickname for me: The Bloodhound. I hadn't done anything truly noteworthy to earn the name. All I did was track people down for a living. I never agreed to kill anyone. I left that decision to the people who employed me. In this city, you never knew who that was. The city is full of whack jobs, psychopaths, serial killers, and murderous thieves. Mafia bosses ran the underground. Gangs ran the streets at night.

City Council tried to clean up the city years ago. An elected official, either the mayor or the governor, tried to enforce police protection. Higher, more dangerous influences made it clear as to why that was a bad idea. No officer who valued his life ended up taking a job in Pesadilla. The city protected itself, in a sick, twisted way. Everyone seemed to live by the same code. In a nutshell it was "Don't Fuck with Me and You Live". I have been lucky enough so far as to not get hired on by anyone with influence. If I get tangled up in that mess, well, I wouldn't live to see twenty-three.

I was grateful for the protection of the city. As bad as the crime was, I heard the forest was worse. When City Council had run this town for a bit, they ended up building an electrified fence between the line that separated the city from the ghastly forest. The fence spanned about thirty miles North to South. Now and again people tried crossing through due to dares and bets placed by shitty friends. Even if they managed to survive electrocution, they would have to face the motion activated sirens that blared through the city. Border Patrol would be on them in seconds.

I was at a bar once. A loud, large man claimed he had hopped the fence and had come back the next day. Living proof that nothing was out there and the government was feeding us lies.

"Mus' be testin' some new spacecraft shit ou' there or somethin'," he had said, slamming what must have been his seventh beer on the table. "Tha's the real reas'n why they wanna keep us out."

"Damn, really?" Some other guy who had been listening closely asked. "Man! And I thought there were nightmarish creatures out there."

I had spoken up. "There are." I said calmly. I was staring at my drink, watching the beads of condensation drip from my glass onto the cocktail napkin. I could tell all eyes were on me.

"What'd you say?" The drunken man had stumbled directly into my line of sight.

"I said there are monsters in the forest. Creatures you wouldn't believe existed unless you saw them for yourself. Creatures so terrifying, that you don't have time to sweat before they devour you."

He had tilted his head, staring at me with dark, beady, angry eyes. "You callin' me a liar?"

"No," I stood up. The tension in the bar thickened. I wasn't looking for a fight. "I'm saying if you were brave enough to hop the fence once, do it again. But this time," I looked him dead in the eye. "Bring proof. Go into the woods and take pictures. Four hundred bucks says you don't."

Just to prove I hadn't been bluffing, I had laid out a thick stack of twenties. Everyone in the bar now looked at the drunken man. I could see the fear build up. I could smell the sweat that came with being caught in a lie. I knew he could sense me, too. He could sense how unwavering I was. He could sense my confidence in how I knew he wouldn't take the bribe.

He scoffed. "I know what I done."

That had been the end of it. Someone later at the same bar had asked how I knew creatures lived in the woods. How could I be so certain?

"I'm a survivor of those woods. My family was taken by that godforsaken place."

I'm sitting at a different bar, thinking about all of this as I play with the olive in my martini. I think of my family. I think of the forest. I think of how it takes people at random. Missing person's reports will be posted in the post office next to the fence. The border is usually the last known location for honest, decent people. Everyone else in the city is a victim or mafia involvement or gang related activity. No missing posters for them. Their families knew what they were getting into.

"You okay, Bloodhound?" The bartender, Josh, asks. He doesn't have many customers today. Me, a couple sitting on a deep purple couch, and a man asleep at the seat closest to the bathrooms, are his guests for the night. He polishes his bottles of expensive alcohol while he talks.

I push my drink away from me. "No, must be a full moon."

He nods. "Did you notice?"

We both look at the opposite end of the bar. The seat nearer the entrance is empty. One of the dealers at Casino Calico, the gambling establishment next door, usually comes here after his shift. He's a loudmouth, can't keep a secret worth a damn, yet he livens the place up. His chatter drowns out the solemn jazz music that plays over the speakers.

"I thought he started working double shifts. He said his wife was pregnant. I figured he was taking on more responsibility."

"True, his wife's pregnant," Josh puts the bottle in his hands back on the lit display shelf. He picks up another one and begins wiping it down. "I went to check on him though. Bartenders inside the casino say they haven't seen him in days. I went to the post office earlier, had to mail out some gifts, and then I see it."

"A missing person's poster," I finish for him. He nods, pausing in his duties to fix his moustache.

"He went into the forest?"

Josh shakes his head. "I don't get why people go in there. It's not safe. It's not natural."

"People are compelled, either by the call of the forest, or by the call of their curiosity." I down my drink. "Anyway, I should be getting home." I stand up, stretch, and then reach into my pocket and pull out a fifty.

"Payment and tip," I slide it to Josh before leaving.

"Opal, I can't-"

"Use it to buy yourself something nice. You're the last good thing about this city."

I make my way back to my apartment. It's only two blocks away so it doesn't take me long. I'm always blown away by how extravagant the building looks from the outside. Since each part of the city is run by a different mafia boss, they all try to outdo each other in fashion and taste. What they don't realize is that they all pretty much have the same style.

This part of Pesadilla, Anise, belongs to Theodore Lucia. He's been renovating buildings like crazy to make them suit his tastes. His taste happens to be what he considers Modern Goth. A tribute to his daughter, Alice Lucia, who's the lead singer for some heavy metal band I could never get into.

The outside of the building looks like a 1600's cathedral from Paris. Stained glass windows depicting momentous occasions in the Lucia family can be seen at every stairway landing. Gargoyle's line the rooftop, snarling at the city below. The stone creatures, each one carrying the Lucia crest on its forehead, seem to be a warning to the citizens of Anise to not mess with Theodore or his family. I can't help but look at the gargoyles and say a prayer anyway. I read that they were supposed to protect people once upon a time. Now it seems like a symbol of power, or a regretful reminder of who has power.

I walk through the heavy wood doors to the apartment complex. I get inside just in time. I hear thunder rolling in the distance and rain begins to splatter against the windows. On days like these I usually like to stop at the third landing to watch the rain. Alice's face is rendered in the glass. Sometimes the rain hits in the right spot so it looks like the figure is crying. A strange yet soothing feeling comes over me when I see it. Like maybe I'm finally experiencing a miracle.

I don't stop today. As I reach the third landing I notice a man standing against the far corner. Besides his normal looking clothes, I don't see any distinguishing features. He has everything covered. His face. His hands. His eyes. Yet, when I look at him I am instantly hit with a bad feeling. Looking at him almost makes me sick to my stomach. I can feel the alcohol churning in my stomach. I manage to keep it down and try to act like everything is normal as I pass by him. Although I can't see it, I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.

"Are you the one they call Bloodhound?" He calls out in a voice that's between an alto and a soprano. There's something else to it, though. His voice has a hint of…danger. I recognize it as danger. I approach with caution.

I don't turn back to face him. I'm paused between the tenth and eleventh step of the fourth set of stairs. "Depends on who's asking."

"An interested person."

I slide my eyes to the right. "And what would this interested person want?"

"To make a deal."

I hear footsteps run up the stairs. I dodge before he reaches me and leap back down to the landing. I draw my gun and twist around to face him. He has the higher ground. I notice he's brandishing a large kitchen knife with what looks like dried bloodstains. Lightning crashes and the knife glints with a dangerous sheen. Thank god I have the better weapon.

He drops his knife. He cackles like a maniac before taking off his sunglasses and pulling his mask down. I break out in a cold sweat as he reveals his face to me.

"Wh-what do you want?" I ask, the grip on my gun tightening.

"You seem to know who I am," he says, tilting his head in a cocky manner. "Good. That'll make things easier. First, tell me what you know about me."

"Why?" I gulp.

He spreads his arms out wide. "Humor me, Hound."

I lower my weapon a tad before speaking. "You're Jeff the Killer." There was no mistaking that wide-slit smile or those bulging, black ringed, lidless eyes. "You killed your family out of spite for not helping you. Now you roam the city killing without rhyme or reason."

His mouth opened unnaturally wide as he laughed louder. "The only thing you got right, Hound, was my name. I didn't kill my family, and I do kill with both rhyme and reason."

"Are you here to kill me?" I feared the answer to this question. As skilled as I am, he had years of experience.

He picked up his knife. He brandished it before sheathing it in what must have been a custom made guard for it. "Not tonight, Bloodhound. Since I can't force you into helping me, I guess I'll ask the nice way. Will you help me?"

I stared at him for a long while before I put my gun away. "I don't think I have a choice."


End file.
